


The Deal

by Animal_Arithmetic



Series: Upon These Golden Sands I Built My House of Dreams [8]
Category: Supernatural, The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Demon Deals, M/M, Scheming, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:08:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22516780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Animal_Arithmetic/pseuds/Animal_Arithmetic
Summary: Geralt makes a deal with the King of the Crossroads.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Upon These Golden Sands I Built My House of Dreams [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1614880
Comments: 35
Kudos: 653





	The Deal

It was dark, of course, well past midnight and yet warm enough that Geralt didn’t need a coat as he stood from his crouch in the middle of the crossroads. The moon was full and heavy as it headed towards the horizon.

Silence, for a moment. Then the stench of sulfur permeated the air.

Geralt turned and eyed the man standing before him. He was short and in a well-tailored suit. Better put together than most demons he had ever seen, that was for sure. Geralt twitched his wrist, making his weapon known.

“Are you the King of the Crossroads?” he asked. He didn’t want to spend too much time there. He needed to get back to Jask and the boys. “Speak plainly. I don’t have time for your games.”

The demon tutted, checking the buttons on his sleeves with lackluster enthusiasm. “You’re the one wanting to make a deal... _Geralt of Rivia_. You don’t get to make demands.” He had a British accent, Geralt thought, eyebrow raising at the information.

“Speak plainly,” he said calmly with a hint of a smile, “or I’ll kill you.”

The demon eyed the knife at his side. It was made by the Kurds—one of several they had given him after he had saved one of their communities from a shahmaran several centuries ago—and improved with a few Elder runes that gave it a bit more power. It was a handy blade, one that many upper level demons had scoffed at until it _worked_ against them. There was no bluffing when it came to how powerful the blade was. And rumors had apparently spread, because the demon didn’t protest further.

“Crowley,” he said, turning his gaze back to Geralt. “What do you want?”

“I killed a yellow-eyed demon thirteen years ago,” he said without preamble. “I saved Mary and John Winchester that night.”

“And claimed Law of Surprise,” Crowley mocked before Geralt could continue, rolling his eyes. “Yes, yes. We’re all well aware of that, and how you got their boys because you saved both of them, or some rubbish.” Crowley sighed and rubbed a hand down his face. It was with a tired glare that he added, “You created a lot of work for all of us, pulling a stupid stunt like that. Seriously—the featherbrains upstairs have been planning this showdown for _centuries_. You killing Azazel set back their plans, but not by much.”

“What plans?” Well, shit. He was seriously way too old for all this Destiny bullshit, but it seemed to like to find him wherever it could. Geralt really wished he knew which deity he had pissed off to be cursed with such rotten luck.

Crowley hummed, squinting at him as he thought. “What do you want?”

“I want my boys to be safe,” Geralt replied, trying his best to hide his exhaustion. He was just so _tired_ , _all the time_. It was well past time he got some rest for good, and this sounded like he wouldn't get any rest for a good, long while.

“You stole them from John.”

“He didn’t want them, anyway. He wanted revenge, instead.”

Crowley hummed again, a pleased little smirk shining in the darkness. “Ah. You want information about their plans, don’t you? About the Princes of Hell.” Crowley stepped forward and circled around him. Geralt didn’t take the bait—he stood still, knife at the ready but appearing lax as Crowley continued. “We need to speak of payment, first.”

“You want my soul.”

“Hell no,” Crowley spat, stopping in front of him and glaring. “I don’t want your soul anywhere near Hell. No, you’re destined for Purgatory. Besides, I don’t want your _wife_ tearing through Hell looking for you.”

Geralt smirked at that. Jaskier had only accompanied him on one hunt that involved demons and he had made _quite_ the reputation for himself. Geralt couldn’t even be mad about it, since it was so funny how most demons would cower before the bard or at any mention of him. “True,” he replied. “What do you want instead?”

Crowley cocked his head to the side, sly smile firmly in place. “I want you to use the information to kill the Princes.”

Taken aback, Geralt tried not to show it by merely blinking. “Why?”

“They’re threatening our entire way of living!” Crowley exploded, stalking circles around Geralt again. “Those stupid angels want to destroy the world. You know how Hell operates? With _souls_. _Human_ souls. Can’t have those if there aren’t any humans left, now can we?”

“Hmm.” So Crowley had purely selfish reasons for giving up the information almost freely. “What does any of this have to do with Sam and Dean?”

Crowley stopped behind him this time. Geralt turned to see the pained look on Crowley’s face. The demon was quite expressive, but definitely powerful enough despite the range of emotions. Geralt didn’t really fear him, though. He knew he could kill him. It might take longer than when he was younger, but he still had most of his stamina and strength. He wasn’t slowed down quite yet.

“Sam and Dean,” Crowley said slowly, “are Lucifer and Michael’s vessels, respectively. It took the angels centuries to get the bloodlines right so the two could have their fight.”

What? "How do you know this?"

"Oh, gossip and the like," was the easy, teasing response. 

Geralt stared at Crowley, trying to comprehend everything he had just learned. Angels were going to use _his_ kids to destroy humanity? _Why?_ He had only had the kids for three years, but he loved them too much already. They didn’t deserve any of that. They hadn’t been asked to be born—apparently they’d been _created_ , specifically so two higher beings could have some fight and destroy the Earth?

Geralt had been alive for far too long to let that happen.

“Fuck.”

“’Fuck’ indeed.”

With a heavy sigh, Geralt motioned to his car just behind them. “I suppose we might as well get comfortable for this conversation.”

Crowley eyed the car in distaste. “Your _wife_ isn’t waiting for us, is he?”

“My home is the only secure place for this conversation.”

Crowley swore under his breath. The air crackled around them. “You’ll keep him away from me?”

Geralt rolled his eyes and pushed the demon towards the car. “Don't be a baby. I’ll make sure he doesn’t do anything to you. Now get in the car.”


End file.
